


Trapped Under Ice

by womenseemwicked



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove Lives, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Crying Billy Hargrove, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Gay Billy Hargrove, Hurt Billy Hargrove, M/M, Pining, Possession, Pre-Relationship, Shadow Monster | Mind Flayer Possessing Billy Hargrove, Soft Billy Hargrove, Stranger Things 3, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/womenseemwicked/pseuds/womenseemwicked
Summary: “Help me,” Billy rasps out, his voice dry as a desert but cracking with saliva that pools but doesn’t hydrate. His throat tightens even as he says it, the thing inside him roiling at the thought that it might be pushed out. And Billy wants to say more, wants to warn Steve about the monster inside him, the heat, the cold, but he doesn’t know how he’d do that even if he was capable of stringing sentences together right now.---AKA the AU where Steve notices Billy’s sweating and zoning out real bad at the pool and, even though they're not really even friends, decides to try and help. First step, get him out of the heat.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 18
Kudos: 349





	Trapped Under Ice

**Author's Note:**

> title shamelessly pulled from a Metallica song of the same name, whose lyrics are practically talking about flayed!Billy.

Billy’s skin feels like it’s sizzling off, and he’s not even in direct sunlight. The heat envelops him so thoroughly he’s sure he must be drowning in it, somehow. After months of withering in midwestern winter cold, it feels like betrayal that the blessed summer heat could make him feel so sick. Sweat tingles down the middle of his back, soaking through the shirt he’d thrown on reluctantly when the early afternoon sun had hit his bare back and made him hiss with pain. 

And yet, he stays on the lifeguard tower. Not that he’ll be much use if someone actually decides to drown right now, but it’s not like he took this job to be a fucking hero, anyway. And right now, despite the pain and the fog in his head, a little spark in Billy’s mind tells him this is the most _himself_ he’s felt since that _thing_ crawled into his head the night before. As the echoing, wordless voice in his head tells him it craves, wants, _needs_ cold, his own voice whispers that giving in is not an option.

If it likes cold, the least he can do is give it fucking fire. 

But the struggle plays out with every single beat of his labored heart. _**Want the cold.** Need the heat. **Want the cold. **Need the heat. **WANT THE COLD—**_

“... come here often?”

Billy blinks fuzzily and Harrington’s face swims into focus, one hand on the lifeguard tower, down by his feet. He’s so pretty, hair done but sticking to his neck and forehead with his own light sheen of sweat, cheeks pink, sunglasses hiding those doe eyes but doing nothing to obscure the stupid flirty smile on his lips.

Billy leans into the added warmth that Harrington’s very presence sears into his skin, even as it makes his head fuzzy in a different way entirely. He can’t answer quick enough. Knows he’s in no state to banter like they’ve taken to doing over the past week or two, flirtatious and almost friendly now that high school rivalries are in the past and the light at the end of the tunnel that is life with his father, life in _Hawkins_ , is nearing. And it’s only been that — only the kind of casual flirting that makes Billy feel like maybe dreams _can_ come true, without really admitting that either of them wants anything further — but the way Harrington’s looking up at him now, over the tops of his lowered Ray Bans, everything feels suddenly clearer. 

Because nobody’s ever looked at Billy like that. Not since he was so _very_ young. With that kind of attention and concern and… care. 

Billy feels like he’s going to pass out. Closes his eyes tight and sits back and does his best to breathe deep even though the heat in the air chokes him, drowns his thoughts with searing pain. 

“Billy, hey. You okay, man?”

Harrington’s hand is a balm, a tether back to his own mind, when it comes to rest on Billy’s burning calf. His eyes fall open and he meets Steve’s gaze without trying. And they barely know each other. Barely stopped hating each other a month ago. But, _fuck_ , Billy can’t fight this thing alone and Steve is the first person since his mom who’s looked at him like that, so—

“Help me,” Billy rasps out, his voice dry as a desert but cracking with saliva that pools but doesn’t hydrate. His throat tightens even as he says it, the thing inside him roiling at the thought that it might be pushed out. And Billy wants to say more, wants to warn Steve about the monster inside him, the heat, the cold, but he doesn’t know how he’d do that even if he was capable of stringing sentences together right now.

Thankfully, despite how big and wide and worried Harrington’s eyes go at that, how he looks around them like he’s looking for a real adult to take care of this, Steve sticks by him and nods. Puts another hand on Billy’s other leg. It feels so _good_ , tears sting at Billy’s eyes. Fuck, he must look like a mess.

“Okay,” Harrington is saying, and even the unsure little pitch in his voice is reassuring somehow. So human. “What do you need?” he asks. “Can you get down on your own? I think if I try to pull you down from there it won’t end pretty for either of us.”

He’s trying to joke, make the situation feel lighter, but the option of being pulled down by Steve just to smash his head open on the concrete doesn’t sound all that undesirable right now. Still, Steve needs an answer and Billy doesn’t trust his body to get down on his own, so he shakes his head. 

“Okay. Alright. Water, then.” He glances around them again, but Billy only has eyes for Steve. He’s pushed his shades up into his hair and it looks kind of ridiculous but also unbearably cute. “I’m gonna go get some water,” Steve continues. “You stay right there, okay? Sit back in the shade. I’ll be right back.”

Before Billy can answer, even think to nod, Steve’s grounding touch has left and he’s alone. Pain sears through his head at the bright white of the concrete where Harrington was seconds before, and he shuts his eyes hard, leaning forward to shelter his eyes from the brightness, the heat.

_**Need cold.** Fuck, I need cold. Need dark. Need to get away. **Cold…**_

Icy comfort presses against his leg, jerking Billy back from the darkness behind his eyes, and it’s like he’s woken up suddenly. Panting, thirsty, too hot, too blurry to see Steve when he half sits up. But he can feel his soft hands slip a bottle into Billy’s big, clumsy, overheated ones, and direct them up towards Billy’s mouth. He manages to get the bottle all the way there before spilling, but the cold down his chest is _good_. It brings him back to his senses enough to drink, and drink, and drink.

Harrington’s eyes are wide again when Billy finishes with a sigh and lets the empty bottle fall from his fingers to the ground. And it’s better. He feels stronger now. But he feels that ants-under-his-skin tingle again. Feels the tug on his mind that tells him he’s not as alone in his head anymore. And, _fuck_ , he might not be a great lifeguard, but he can’t just stay on duty like this. He knows that. If this thing takes over while half the kids in Hawkins are running around, if it takes one of them too, or gets violent…

Billy shudders and launches himself down from the tower, breathing hard. Nearly stumbles, but Harrington’s arm shoots out to catch him before he can fall.

“What’s wrong with _him_?” someone asks, and Billy doesn’t even know if he knows her voice now. Doesn’t care. Pushes off from Steve and keeps walking as fast as he can, vision swimming in the heat, the direct sun. 

Behind him, Harrington’s voice stays ever-audible, telling someone, “I dunno, think he’s sick. I’m gonna take him home, okay?” 

That dark, wordless voice growls in his head and Billy feels it rumbling in his chest.

“Not going home.” 

He doesn’t know if it’s him or the shadow that forms those words, but Steve’s caught up enough to hear them, and wraps himself around Billy’s shoulders in a second, warm and damp and comforting and distracting and--

“To mine, then,” he answers, easily. “We gotta get you out of this heat.”

Billy’s heartbeat stutters, but he’s too weak to shake his head. Too out of it to insist that Steve let him stay hot, sweat it out, burn to death if he has to. 

_Need the heat... **Want the cold.**_

When Billy’s eyes open again, he’s distant from them. Not the one in control of his body anymore. His heart rate spikes and he struggles weakly, but they’re in Harrington’s icy, air-conditioned mansion now. And while he’s still recovering from the heat and the dehydration, the shadow inside him is thriving and taking control, feeling its way around his mind and body.

“Hey, you with me?” Harrington’s voice is distant, but even the shadow controlling his body responds to it. Turns their eyes up to him. Steve smiles a little, kneels in front of him and brushes a sweat-sticky curl from his forehead. “Stay with me, alright?” he breathes, and he’s messing around with a pile of stuff on the coffee table next to Billy’s knee.

“It’s... still too… hot,” Billy hears his voice growl out, like the thing inside his head is flicking through an Alien to English dictionary before every word, and Steve frowns, but doesn’t move from where he is, just nods.

“I’m gonna take your temperature, okay?” he says, turning back to face Billy with a white plastic stick in his hand. The shadow mistrusts it, but follows along when it comes up to part his lips, clumsily. “Under your tongue, Hargrove. Yeah, there you go. Now hold it-- Has nobody ever taken your temperature before or something? _Hold_ it. There.”

Billy’s skin is crawling and he feels restless, trapped and frozen cold in his own mind, but the thing that’s taken over his body sits perfectly still, calm. While Steve sorts through the rest of the supplies he’s gathered, Billy wonders how long it took them to get here from the pool. How long he was out. Whether his body was still up and moving without him, or Harrington somehow carried him here to this couch all on his own. If it weren’t for the terror of the situation, Billy’s cock would probably be chubbing up at the mere thought of Steve managing to carry him.

It’s not until Steve glances back at him and frowns that he realizes he hasn’t moved at all since Steve put the thermometer in his mouth. Steve’s huffed laugh sounds uncomfortable and he looks like he’s about to comment on it, but then his watch beeps for a timer Billy hadn’t realized he’d set and Steve’s reaching out to remove the thermometer from his mouth.

He frowns and glances back up at Billy.

“That can’t be right…”

The back of one of his pretty hands comes up to feel Billy’s sticky forehead and he frowns deeper.

“You’re _cold_ ,” he says.

“Not cold enough,” the shadow answers, and Billy’s chest feels tight.

Steve shakes his head. Shows him the thermometer like he must not have understood.

“No, you’re like, _too_ cold, man. We need to get your temperature up somehow. I’m gonna go get some blankets--”

Billy’s hand shoots out to grab Harrington before he can fully stand, bringing him back down to a crouch.

“ _ **No**_ ,” his hijacker growls. “Like it cold. Need it cold. Bring me… ice.”

The look on Steve’s face -- brows knit, lips parted -- is one of confusion, but somehow… Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but Billy could swear there’s a look of recognition there, too. Like he’s cluing into the fact that something aside from a little heatstroke isn’t right here. Billy’s heart pounds in his chest.

“Please… _Pretty_ Boy?” the monster tries, and fuck, it must be digging deeper into his mind. Trying to actually imitate Billy now. But it’s got the tone all wrong. He never says it like that. Like it’s a pet name, a compliment. Steve will _have_ to realize now that it isn’t _him..._

But no. As Billy’s hand loosens around Steve’s wrist to let him go, Steve’s cheeks go pink and his eyes flick down as he lets his hand slide through Billy’s fingers softly.

“Okay,” he shrugs, chewing his lip, and turns to go.

Billy’s eyes flick to watch him leave, and then return to the rest of the room. The pile of supplies on the table. Snacks, sodas, a first-aid kit…

 _Don’t hurt him_ , he begs. _Whatever you do. He’s helping._ And he’s not sure if shadow monsters can even laugh, but if they can Billy gets the feeling that’s what his hijacker is doing, deep inside his mind.

His hand reaches out for the coldest thing on the coffee table, a cherry popsicle, and pulls it free of the wrapper, quickly wrapping his lips around it, clumsy, a behavior learned through vague childhood memories stolen from Billy’s head. The cold is a shock against his teeth, his tongue, his lips, but the shadow loves it. He sucks it in deeper, until it’s pressing into his throat, and sighs deep through his nose.

_**Better. Much better.** _

Billy feels like he’s been kicked in the chest. Barely awake, barely breathing in the back of his own mind. Just aware enough to see his hands rifling through the rest of the just-sorted mess on the table.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Steve walks back into the room, but he’s disoriented to find that he’s gotten up and walked around the room, picking things up, snooping. The popsicle, meanwhile, is slowly melting in his mouth, down his throat. He feels a drip fall down his chin and land on the carpet at his feet.

Billy can’t tell if it’s the mess he’s making or the fact that he’s moved that makes Steve’s eyes go wide when he spots him, but he looks away quickly and turns to sit back on the couch.

“So, I got your ice,” he holds up a bowl of ice cubes before setting it on the coffee table. “And I figured you probably should drink some more, you seemed pretty dehydrated out there, so…” 

Billy takes the cool soda can offered to him, and instantly sucks the rest of the mostly-melted popsicle off its stick, freeing his mouth to drink from the beautifully ice-cold can. He feels Steve’s fingers take the popsicle stick from his loose grip, tastes something vaguely off about the ginger ale, feels dizzy from standing and tilting his head so far back after fucking himself up so bad with the heat, but his body keeps drinking until it’s done. 

“Come sit,” Harrington coaxes, and Billy’s body moves vaguely to comply. “You feeling any better?” he asks. His hand is on Billy’s forehead again, and if Billy was in control right now he’d probably sigh, lean into it a little too much, close his eyes. As it is, his body sits still and stares ahead, straight at Steve.

“Yeah,” it says. “I’m much better, now, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve hums and sits back into the couch, putting some distance between them.

“You were really out of it back there,” he says, squinting at him. “Any idea what caused all that?”

Billy claws at the barriers the shadow has put up, wanting, _needing_ , to give Steve the real answer, no matter how insane it makes him sound, but the shadow’s answering before he can have any hope of stopping it.

“Hangover,” his voice says, and he shrugs. It almost feels normal. Like the shadow is getting better at its impersonation of him, _fast._

Billy struggles harder, rails against the shackles on his mind, but he’s slowed down, sluggish with the cold. Steve doesn’t seem to notice.

“No kidding?” He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. “Well, you should definitely hydratemore then,” he suggests, and reaches for another one of the sodas he brought with him. 

He cracks open the can himself, which Billy vaguely takes to be a side-effect of too much time spent babysitting lately, but a second later he’s leaning over for some reason and Billy’s whole body goes tense, suspicious, as Steve tries to slip something into the can without him noticing.

His body goes stiff and threatening in a heartbeat, and when Steve turns back with an unconvincing smile, trying to hand the can over, Billy’s hand flies out to smack it across the room.

Steve jumps, eyes wide, but he barely seems to notice the soda spilling out across the carpet. Doesn’t take his eyes off Billy now for a second.

“Billy?” His voice is soft, but Billy can hear how hard he’s struggling to keep it calm.

“What are you trying to do to me, Steve?” Billy’s voice asks. And, fuck, he’d thought the shadow trying to sound like him was scary, but the steel in his voice now is nothing like his own voice. It’s closer, if anything, to his father’s voice, which brings its own kind of fear with it.. 

Steve just stares and shakes his head.

“I’m not trying to do-- I’m just helping you out, Billy,” he says as lightly as he can, and then, when his voice shakes, “I can _help_ you.”

Suddenly there’s no more space between them, and Steve’s Adam’s apple bobs against the span of Billy’s palm. His pulse hammers against Billy’s fingers, and he can feel it even though his hands feel like thick gloves he’s got his hands only half-way inside.

“Don’t _lie_ , Steve…” he growls. And Billy fights back, but it feels like he’s breathing about as well as Steve is.

“Billy,” Steve gasps. His eyes keep flicking from one of Billy’s to the other, as if searching them for some hint of why he’s doing this. Billy feels a tear fall onto his left cheek, but that’s the extent of his control. 

Billy feels like he’s watching from deep under water as his fingers tighten around Steve’s throat, cutting off more of his air.

 _Please,_ he begs helplessly, _leave him alone! You don’t have to hurt him!_

But he must overexert himself, because that’s the last he’s conscious of before his mind slides into darkness.

He’s still awake here, he’s still alive, but it’s a consciousness he’s never felt before. Untethered from reality, untethered from his body at all. Billy screams and rages and does his best to claw his way back to consciousness for God knows _how_ long -- minutes? hours? -- before physical, worldly consciousness slowly sinks back in.

For a moment, when it finally does, Billy isn’t sure what brought him back. Isn’t sure where he is or what’s happening. But then he gets his bearings.

He’s in a car, driving, and not doing it well at all. Billy has to be grateful for the heat of the day making it so nobody’s on this road, because the car is swerving into the one other lane like he’s drunk off his ass. And, fuck, he _feels_ drunk off his ass. Slow, and loopy, and--

There’s a sniffle behind him, and Billy’s eyes flick to the mirror lightning fast. _Fuck._

“Steve?”

Harrington’s dark eyes go wide and he glances up to meet Billy’s gaze, mouth hidden behind a strip of duct tape, wrists tied, and somehow, still, looking hopeful. Billy can see the tape move and the sound that comes out of his mouth doesn’t _not_ sound like, “Billy?”

Billy’s heart races and his hands tighten on the wheel of what he realizes now is _Steve’s_ car. And he knows where they’re headed, too. _Brimbourn Steelworks._ He takes his foot off the gas and feels a rush of triumph when he’s able to keep control of himself long enough to switch to the brake, turn between the front seats, and rip the tape from Steve’s mouth.

 _“Fuck!”_ Steve curses, doubling over in pain, but he breathes deep and recovers fast. “Is that you, Billy?” he huffs, looking up at him through his lashes, tearing up just a little from the pain.

Billy nods, struggling to stay in control.

“Not for long, though,” he says. “I don’t think I can-- d’you know what’s _happening_ to me?”

Because for all that Steve looks scared as hell, he doesn’t look even as lost as Billy feels on the subject. In fact, he seems like he’s about to try to comfort and apologize to _Billy_. But before Billy can say anything else, Steve is lunging forward to close the gap between them and pressing his soft, tape-sticky lips against Billy’s. 

A shock the size of a tsunami rolls through Billy’s body and the car jolts forward a bit as he forgets to keep a foot on the brake pedal, but the kiss ends just as quickly as it began, with Steve pulling away, eyes looking deep into his.

“Sorry!” he says, blushing. “I know that’s-- we aren’t-- this really isn’t the time, but I just needed you to know that whatever else happens tonight,” he pants, “I’m gonna get this thing out of you. Okay? If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna get it out of you.”

And the way he says it, promises it, Billy almost believes him. His eyes are tearing up before he knows what’s happening and he wants to answer, wants to lean forward and untie Steve, maybe kiss him a second time, slower, deeper. But before he can do any of that, his body is being ripped from his control again with a roar of pain.

“You’ll fail, _Harrington_ ,” his voice grits out, snide and miserable all in one, and suddenly he’s gunning it down the road again, faster than before.

“I won’t,” Steve bites in reply, and Billy has to admire his fire at a time when it’s getting hard to fight anything anymore. “I’ve helped get rid of you before. And the rest of them, Will, and El -- that girl with the psychic powers -- and all the others, they’re coming for you too. You can’t last, asshole. Might as well give up, cause I’m _not_ losing him to _you_.”

Billy feels like he must’ve hit his head. He doesn’t have a clue what most of that stuff is that Steve’s talking about, but the fact that he’s definitely talking to the _thing_ inside him, that he _knows_ it, is encouraging as much as it’s disturbing and unsettling _._ He grabs ahold of control for just long enough to meet Steve’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and nod.

 _Keep doing what you’re doing_.

Steve holds his gaze and sets his jaw, so determined and cocky that if Billy wasn’t _really busy_ fighting possession right now he’d be hard in his jeans.

“D’you remember how bad you lost last time?” Steve asks. “We set the Hub on fire, and burned up everything. Your tunnel system, your little army, all of it...”

Billy is barely following the talk, but the thing inside his head is seething with every word. He feels its anger roll through him in waves, making him press down ever harder on the gas and grip the steering wheel tight, but it’s more than just that. It’s fear, too. Whatever Steve is talking about, it’s _scaring_ this thing. Billy feels echoes of a burning pain all along his body when Steve talks about fire, what must be memories the shadow has of it.

“... and El? She’s been training for the next time she fights you. You think you’re really sneaky, but we found your little hide-out and they’re all waiting for you. Just wait till she sees you. She’s gonna tear you ap--”

_**NO.** _

Billy feels his hands shift on the steering wheel almost as if in slow-motion, angling the car roughly off the road and straight into a tree. In the last moment before impact and his mind goes completely black, Billy can’t tell if it was him or the shadow that wanted this. And then there’s nothing.

As far as he can tell, Steve doesn’t lose consciousness for more than a couple minutes. The car is still cool from how high the AC was cranked before they wrecked and everything got turned off. His wrists are sore, but still not losing circulation in their ties. And most importantly, Billy is still out. 

_Good_.

From what he can see from the back seat, the tree fucked up the front end of his car but didn’t actually impact Billy. He should be okay still, as long as Steve can get the Mindflayer out. He takes a deep breath and sets to work, untying himself with his teeth, doing his best not to fault himself for not having a walkie in the car at all times. It really would be nice if all that talk about knowing what was going on hadn’t been bluffing. Would be really nice if Billy hadn’t fucked up his plan to call over backup by knocking him out and dragging him out here in the first place.

As soon as his hands are free, Steve makes quick work of the ties around his ankles and gets out of the car to check on Billy in the front seat. No visible injuries, and he’s still breathing, even if it’s shallowly. Maybe the sleeping pills he put in Billy’s pop had an effect after all. Sweet. He can work with that.

Just then, a green Ford Pinto pulls up beside them and comes to a stop.

Billy wakes up with a pounding headache, vision blurry in the too-bright sun. He feels sluggish and out of it, but at least he seems to be alone in his head now. That is, until he tries to move his left hand and finds himself trapped. Tied up. Suddenly, he’s wide awake, eyes squinted to take in his surroundings, the shadow taking control instinctively. 

He’s on the side of some road, in the middle of fucking nowhere, sun beating down on him, and tied, sitting up, to a _tree_ of all things. Harrington’s BMW is smoking from under its crumpled hood nearby, but the man himself is nowhere to be seen. Billy’s body tries to wrench itself free again, oblivious to the rope-burn he’s giving himself in the process.

Leaves crunch behind him and suddenly he stills, listening hard.

“Billy?” Steve comes around to where Billy can see him, and Billy shoves past the heat-weakened shadow, back into control.

“Steve,” he grits back.

Steve kneels in front of him and checks his temperature with the back of his hand, looks him in the eyes like he knows what he’s looking for. The idea that either of those things will help at all is ridiculous, but somehow they make Billy feel calmer. Just having someone else in control, someone who might be able to help somehow…

“Sorry for the ropes,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if the Mindflayer was still in there with you or not since the crash knocked me out too…”

Billy shivers at the name. He hadn’t thought to name the thing riding around in his head with him, but _Mindflayer_ is the kind of name he’d really rather not think about while the thing is curled up, dark and bristling, against the back of his own mind.

“It’s still here,” he answers, quiet, like maybe that will keep it from trying to interfere. “But it’s weaker now, I think. The sun… and that stuff you were saying before…”

Steve nods, chewing his bottom lip, and glances up, over Billy’s shoulder. He has a hand on either of Billy’s knees now, and Billy feels like he’s burning up from those innocent points of contact. He sighs and leans into them.

“Will--” A woman’s voice says behind him, and for one delirious second Billy thinks it might be his mom. Thinks he’s losing his mind. But then some kid -- one of Max’s little nerd friends, he thinks -- comes out from behind him to stand next to Steve, a serious look on his face. Determined, even though Billy can see the kid is terrified to be here, anywhere near Billy.

“You have to fight him,” he says after a long time. “He’ll stay in you, no matter how uncomfortable it is, unless you fight back.”

He says it with such authority, such painful wisdom, that Billy can’t help but believe him. He grimaces and looks away.

“I _am_ ,” he hisses. ‘Cause even with the _Mindflayer_ weakened, every second that he holds the thing at bay, every minute he stays in control is a bleeding struggle. Even when he’s most himself his thoughts feel sluggish, tainted by shadowy tendrils. How is he supposed to try harder than this?

But Will just shakes his head and gets down on one knee.

“Think about the people you love,” he says. “Think about whatever, or whoever, makes your days better every time they’re around. For me it was my mom, my brother, my best friend Mike...” he throws out, and something about his tone when he says _Mike_ makes Billy squirm and glance over at Steve like it’s instinct.

_Steve._

Their eyes meet for a second, and Billy’s lips remember what it felt like to be kissed by him. It feels like it must’ve been a fever dream, but what doesn’t these days? He tries to reach out to touch him, not thinking for a second, and feels cheated when the ropes stop him.

“Pretty boy,” he whispers beseechingly, and Steve scoots closer in a second despite Will and his mom’s apprehensive noises.

“I’m here,” he says softly back, bringing their foreheads together. One of Steve’s hands comes up to cup his cheek and Billy feels a tear fall straight into it. He breathes hard.

“ _That’s_ what you’re fighting for,” Will says softly, and Billy nods, closing his eyes. Not to avoid the intensity of what’s happening between him and Steve, it’s to lean into it, hard as he can.

“You’ve got real shitty taste in guys, Harrington, you know that?” he can’t help but laugh, trying to calm himself down with a little distracting levity before the fight.

Steve’s answering laugh sounds more than a little teary too. A miracle in its own right. 

“How ‘bout you get rid of this thing and we can figure that one out together, huh?” he suggests.

Billy grins tearily and meets Steve’s eyes as he sits back on his heels. He takes a breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes back against the shadow.

But the _Mindflayer_ fights back hard. Won’t go without a fight, just like Will said, even with the heat and everything else fighting against it. Gets a second wind at the threat of Billy’s new resolve and takes over once again. Yanks at his tied-up wrists and lets out a yell that has both Will and Steve jumping back.

“Billy…” Steve says, but it’s no use. Billy’s vaguely aware of the pain in his wrists as they strain against the ropes around them, before suddenly they’re snapping apart, leaving him almost free. Pulling apart the ropes that had his torso wrapped up is exhilaratingly easy, though, and then he’s advancing on Harrington. Pinning him to the hot car. The kid scurries away to huddle with his mother, but the shadow lets the two of them back away. For now all it wants is Steve.

“Billy,” Steve tries again, one hand on Billy’s where it’s wrapped around his neck, eyes wide. “I know you’re in there. You can still-- stop this.” He’s choking, barely able to breathe, but he never stops talking. “I’m too-- pretty to die,” he even grins a little, searching Billy’s eyes for some recognition. “Didn’t you say that? Pulled me back when I almost-- walked into the pool that time? Billy--”

Finally, it becomes too much for him to fight and he quiets, struggling less, just doing his best to gasp for a breath he won’t be able to catch. Behind him, Billy hears Will struggling against his mom’s grip. He feels a spike of anger at her apparent willingness to just let Steve die, but bitterness follows, and a reluctant gladness that at least Will has a mom who will do anything to keep her son safe.

Steve, for his part, locks his eyes on Billy’s again as his face pales. He doesn’t have the breath to say words anymore, but he looks like he’s trying to anyway. _Fuck_.

Grief and anger rush through Billy in a wave and he screws his eyes closed tight, concentrating with all his might.

_Get the fuck out!_

He pulls back from Steve, letting him go, and collapses in the dry dirt, feet away. His body convulses.

_Get OUT!_

Billy’s world narrows down to nothing but the inside of his own head as he fights the presence inside him with everything he has, his guilty conscience that he let it go that far and the fear that he almost-- Steve could’ve _died_ , propelling him forward. 

And then, all of a sudden, he’s jerked back to the real world as bile rises in his throat and what feels like everything he’s ever eaten in his life slops out of his mouth onto the ground in a small red heap that looks worryingly like his own internal organs. Billy pants, and stares, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, before realizing Steve’s collapsed too, not far away.

“ _Fuck_. Steve?”

He crawls over to him quickly, ignoring the way it makes Will and his mom startle and shuffle back from where they were trying to help.

“Steve, fuck, please be okay,” Billy breathes as he reaches his side, leaning over him to hectically check his pulse, listen to his heart, look at his still face. “I should’ve been faster. I should’ve fought harder. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” His voice is thick with tears, but Billy doesn’t give a shit. Not after everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours.

He props Steve’s head up and checks his pulse again, a little more intentionally this time. It seems a little slow, but still there, for sure. Suddenly, he takes in a deep gasp, and his eyes flutter open slowly.

“Billy?” he croaks, and Billy doesn’t know whether to be honored or ashamed that he’s the first thing Steve thinks of.

“I’m right here,” he breathes back, unable to stop himself from holding Steve tight, feeling teary for the upteenth time in the past handful of hours. “I’m back,” he says. “All me in here.” He knocks his own forehead with two knuckles, eliciting a hoarse laugh from Steve, who grins up at him then like he’s the hero of the day. Like that’s not Steve himself, or fucking Will Byers.

And speaking of Will…

Billy glances around to thank him, and spots him and his mom over where Billy was moments before, apparently enthralled in what came out of his mouth. Rightly afraid to get too close to it, but watching it closely, almost like they think--

It moves.

First just a little, but then quickly, propelling itself away and toward the road, all on its own.

_Toward Brimbourn Steelworks._

Billy feels a shiver down his spine, and his eyes lock with Will’s.

“That thing’s not done here,” he says, allowing Steve to sit up now but still holding him close. Steve’s eyes are fixed on the retreating little monster, but Will nods at him.

“And whatever it’s up to now, we’re gonna need the whole Party to fight it. We need _everyone_.” He looks to his mom, who nods back, and Billy wonders who the hell else in this town is personally acquainted with the monsters under their beds.

But there’ll be plenty of time to worry about all that later. For now, Steve curls up into his side and wraps an arm around Billy’s waist tightly.

“D’you mean what you said, King Steve?” Billy has to check, his voice hoarse and quiet against Steve’s thick hair. “You really…”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers back, and pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. They both grin, probably looking like absolute idiots, but Billy can’t find it in him to care.

“Oh,” he says stupidly. “Rad.”

Steve snorts a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “So what do you say, dinner at my place? Y’know, after we stop whatever apocalypse is happening this time,” he adds, waving a hand like this kind of thing is nothing to him, and Billy can’t help but laugh, deeper and longer than he has in a long time. He nods and buries his burning face in Steve’s shoulder, feeling weak.

“It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe it's taken me almost exactly a year to actually finish anything regarding season 3. ho boy.
> 
> anyway, there's a moodboard for this on my tumblr, [here](https://women-seem-wicked.tumblr.com/post/623115430842843136/trapped-under-ice-help-me-billy-rasps-out-his), if you're into that sort of thing!


End file.
